


another life, another time

by sugandt



Category: Tales of Berseria
Genre: Character Death, Character Study, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Mild Gore, Minor Violence, Night Terrors, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tales Whump Week, Tales of Berseria Spoilers, Tales of Whump Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 09:58:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16083770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugandt/pseuds/sugandt
Summary: As her arm mutated, grew, Velvet imagined a new life; Laphicet’s sickness, cured, and Artorius still Arthur. A trip to Taliesin with Niko, hand in hand, silent walks through the woods. Braiding Velvet’s hair and teasing Niko about that doctor-- what was his name again? Velvet’s arm throbs.A character study of Velvet Crowe, exploring the events of the Scarlet Night and what comes afterwards.





	another life, another time

**Author's Note:**

> Tales of Whump Week  
> Day 1: Wounds

There is a parasite consuming Velvet’s forearm, and there is not a thing than can be done. It’s as if she is being eaten alive, from the inside out. A poison in her bone marrow, dissolving her bones and causing the limb to swell, swell, swell. Velvet can only watch in defeat, as she lies upon the ground, clothes and exposed skin covered in dirt, her blood, Laphicet’s blood. Her arm pulses, burns, the pain agonizing. Through her parted lips, she exhales, but does not inhale. Eyes at half-mast, there’s an endless supply of tears-- but what is she mourning?

Is she mourning her own, unrecognizable arm, as it seems to glow with a deep, fiery red? Her newfound distrust--no, hatred-- for Artorius, Arthur no longer? What about her brother; poor, poor Laphicet. And his poor, poor sickness. Velvet had been forced to watch, at a mere sixteen years old, as her brother rose towards the sky, an offering to a higher power, perhaps, and then, struck. Through his chest. The blood, his blood, had hit Velvet’s face like rain, warpaint, but a war against whom? A sight so gruesome, her only reason to live, really, ripped right from her fingers, sand slipping through knuckles only to be lost again. 

She had followed him, after he fell from his suspension, an angel descending to earth after its wings clipped, she followed him into the rabbit hole. There was no other world, no undiscovered land or alternate plane of existence, nothing but Laphicet with a hole through his heart, blood flowing from his wound, Velvet had never known that the body could hold so much blood. Laphicet had once told her that all of the veins in one human could extend from Eastgand to Westgand, but she hadn’t realized how long that truly was, how much the body, Laphicet’s body, could hold. 

A monster-- a daemon?-- waited for them, mouth open and awaiting a sacrificial last supper, fangs slick with its spit, shiny and salivating. But it only took Laphicet, one bite and he was gone, a mere treat, perhaps a taste of something yet to come? There was no time for Velvet to think, only for her chest to set aflame as the daemon expelled her from its lair, launching her into the air, just like Laphicet. She had hit the ground with such a great force, that she felt her ribs snap from the impact. Her knees, too, one leg bent at an unnatural angle, sick. 

Laphicet, with his golden, silk spun hair, old soul, and weak heart, gone. Perhaps the pain of losing her only brother, her only family left after Celica passed, perhaps it is a pain worse than her boiling left arm. 

She hadn’t wanted any of this-- she would have been content, thrilled, overjoyed, to live out her life in a tiny village, cooking and caring and nurturing for her brother and Artorius. As her arm mutated, grew, Velvet imagined a new life; Laphicet’s sickness, cured, and Artorius still Arthur. A trip to Taliesin with Niko, hand in hand, forlorn walks through the woods. Braiding Velvet’s hair and teasing Niko about that doctor-- what was his name again? Velvet’s arm throbs.

A pinching feeling in both of her knees, her leg bends back to a normal angle. Did her bones suddenly heal? A sharp, targeted pain in her ribs, and she’s able to breathe just fine again. The rest she does not recall well. Guttural screaming at Arthur, Artorius, an incomprehensible amount of rage, a bloodbath, a massacre! Nothing compared to a ritual sacrifice! Of his own son, no less! Who has the time to care for blood ties, now Laphicet is dead and Artorius has escaped and Velvet is cradling Niko’s severed head in her palm, eyes that were once soft brown now empty. Niko’s vertebrae hang off Velvet’s fingers-- but are they even her fingers? How can they be? So ugly, so large! How disgusting! How can something so foreign, so unrecognizable, be a part of her now? 

In the deepest cell on Titania, Velvet wields her arm like it’s a weapon. And it is, really, the only thing she has to defend herself when yet another daemon from the endless stream is tossed into the pit. She cannot even taste the fur, the scales, of any daemon, nor the dirt upon its skin. Is this truly her fate? Live in a cell, clothed in rags, until she dies? Will she even die, now? With a careful hand, she wraps her arm, shriveled and burning, in a bandage. It is in this cell that she gets down on her knees, hands pressed flat against the ground, palms down. She does not believe in any higher power, but, for reasons unknown to her, she prays,

“...Velvet.”

And she names her vows,

“Velvet.”

And she remembers Laphicet.

“Velvet!”

A jolt. The scent of leather. A gloved hand upon her shoulder. Van Eltia. Where is she? Clothed, that’s good. Quarterdeck. She jumps up, out of bed? Her feet carry her back, until she’s pressed against the wall. Eizen’s, the Captain’s, cabin. Eizen.

“Don’t touch me,” She says, her arms coiling around herself until her joints ache. She slides down the wall, forehead touching her knees. Does it hurt Eizen to see her like this? Does she care? Of course she cares. Cares too much about everything. Too nice for her own good. That’s what Eleanor had said, drunk on Rokurou’s sake, hanging on Velvet’s every word. 

Eizen, patient, waits for Velvet to crawl back into bed, hours later, the cabin lit by two candles mounted on the wall. Late night, early morning, regardless, everyone else is sleeping. Velvet, plagued by night terrors and a foggy brain when she wakes up, doesn’t know if she’ll ever heal. 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Eizen asks, threading his fingers through hers. The answer is always no. But it’s always worth a try. Velvet shakes her head. One day she will. But it won’t be today, and Eizen knows it won’t be tomorrow, either.

She curls into him. Wounds are not always visible, physical. He plants a kiss on the top of her head. It will take years to heal. Velvet gives his hand a squeeze. Perhaps she won’t ever fully recover. Eizen returns the gesture. 

“I’ll tell you,” Velvet murmurs into his chest, “I’ll tell you one day.”

“I know,” Eizen says. I know.


End file.
